


Frozen Over

by lonewolfe



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Starbucks, Stucky - Freeform, stevebucky - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-20
Updated: 2014-08-20
Packaged: 2018-02-14 00:29:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2171118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonewolfe/pseuds/lonewolfe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky hasn't spoken since his return to Steve after the events of Winter Soldier. Steve attributes it to post traumatic stress and Bucky attempting to rediscover himself, but Nick Fury and SHIELD aren't so sure. If the Winter Soldier could hold the guise of anyone for the past 70 years, who's to say he's not holding the guise of Bucky Barnes?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Bucky Barnes won't speak. Can't is a better word. He tries sometimes, but the words won't come. His mouth moves, but his tongue is stuck. That's how he feels most these days. Frozen. Numb. Steve tells him it's going to be okay, that things will return to normalcy soon enough. But when were things ever normal for them? A super soldier and a seventeen year old boy fighting Nazis. One is frozen solid for seventy years and comes out a hero. The other is only frozen when he's not killing. His personality, friends, passions, all wiped away. Now Steve tells him he's free, HYDRA has been rooted out of S.H.I.E.L.D. But he still feels stuck. How do you get back what's been lost for so long? How are you sure it was ever really there?

Steve lost Peggy, but Bucky lost everything. And the worst part is he knows how sad that is, he knows it deep in his bones. But he can't feel it. He lost everything, emotions too. And that's the worst part. Not feeling anything. The worst part is being frozen again.


	2. Chapter 2

When Steve opens the door, Bucky is sitting up straight in the same spot he's sat in every day since he was brought home. The left side of the couch, closest to the door. Always poised, always ready.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve says.

Bucky looks at him, blinks.

“So, listen, Sam and Nat are coming by later. They want to talk to you about what's going to happen to you—to us—now that we've got you back. Okay?”

Steve kneels down in front of him. The sun shines through the blinds cutting neat blades of light across his face. Bucky can't hold eye contact. He looks down at his arm and feels the rotors whirring softly.

“Buck. Please, say something. Anything.”

A brief pause.

“Can you nod for me?”

That, Bucky can do. He does.

Steve's mouth opens in a tight smile that evokes a hint of something within Bucky, though he's not sure what. A memory? Maybe.

When he showed up at Steve's door six months ago, he knew almost nothing about his life. He had only brief and unintelligible glimpses into who he was. Like looking through a broken window, the image distorted by a web of cracks. But even if the window was clear, it wouldn't make a difference. All Bucky has is fragments. Fragments of who James Buchanan Barnes once was and never again can be. He could use those fragments and construct an image, fall into a role. Play the character of Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. But he won't. He's done pretending to be someone else, done doing things for other people's benefit. Seventy years of that was seventy too many. Hopefully Steve can accept that. Because Bucky's life is a scattered puzzle, and Steve is the most important piece.

It's not a coincidence that the only memories Bucky recognizes are of Steve. It's not a coincidence that the only person Bucky doesn't see as a threat is Steve. He means something, even if Bucky isn't sure what. And if he could find the words, he'd tell him that. He'd beg Steve not to surrender him to S.H.I.E.L.D., not to let him be wiped again.

It's not a coincidence that Bucky's clearest memory is of Steve. He can't let that be taken away. He won't.


End file.
